Lighting his fire

Remember those things your parents did when you were a child that you never fully understood the purpose of, yet you acquired as your own adult habits? The husband and I brought entirely different traits to the table - all equally strange - but the difference is, his swirl around excessive paranoia safety, and mine are more reckless free-spirited.

In our house, the crock pot bubbled on all day while no one was home and the hairdryers, coffee pot, toaster and Christmas tree plugs remained in the sockets unless there was a reason to unplug them (reasons like we were moving). Mom was known to hang her hand out the driver's side window, crank up the Barry Manilow and drive like a bat out of hell somewhat briskly. Sorry, Mom. This is the truth circle.

The husband approaches life with a bit more caution. A baseball bat rests next to our newlywed bed, the door and stove are once, twice, thrice checked to ensure lockdown, cooled-off status at all times, the toaster and the electrical outlet only have very brief encounters. Once that bread pops out, the love affair is over and the 'spark' is gone.

I'll admit, I've had my fun with the husband on these matters. We're nestled into bed on a cold winter night and all seems content with the world around us. Faces are washed, teeth brushed, tasks finished for the day. Ready to rest with clear minds and prepared to face the day to come. I'll wait until he's juuust about asleep...

Me: Hey, you think the stove's on?
Him: (Sits straight up) It IS?
Me: Just wondering if you turned it off, not sure I did.

Evil? Yes. Entertaining? Definitely. And in the end, it always gives us both a good laugh. Today, I probably drive too fast with the music too loud and turn on the crockpot before I leave for the day. But I always unplug the toaster, I've started locking the door and know that marrying him was not only the smartest choice I've made, but the safest.

Ask the Husband: Call for Questions

I've had few inquiries from people who feel sorry for the husband and want to send him food dedicated readers who are curious what HE thinks of all this nonsense I conduct in our kitchen. Some are curious whether his mother ships in nourishment from Toledo, others just generally concerned about his digestive health.

I thought I'd give you the chance to ask him yourself. He'll be mortified glad to answer in a post that will follow.

Ask away, you nosies.

The best things are hidden inside

Oh friends, how I've missed you. I'm not offering any excuses, won't tell you lies, won't play with your emotions like an adolescent school boy. The simple truth is, we've been busy continuing our newlywed journey, which is never starving for exciting challenges and opportunities. Suffice to say for now, Spring is here.

Someday, far, far away, we plan to move to a home that exceeds 800 square feet and can hold a real dining room table, fit for a proper dinner party. When that time comes, this girl needs to be able to serve a basic, tasty meal that can be prepared ahead, leaving ample time to hit the punch bowl (Who drinks punch? What is this, Leave it to Beaver?) and say things to guests like, "How ARE you? It's SO great to see you. Oh, no help needed, it was an absolute SNAP to whip up!"

Meanwhile, in our 700 square foot apartment (notice how it's actually getting smaller?), I decided that the first order of business was to execute a killer roasted chicken. I dusted off that gorgeous book that everyone registers for but never uses, The Bride and Groom First and Forever Cookbook to get me there. It's full of traditional recipes we remember from childhood, yet elegantly prepared with, well, a LOT of butter. It was definitely written before olive oil. And, heart attacks.

The best part about this recipe is the lovely, flavorful goodies they ask you to stuff in the inners. Garlic, wedges of lemon, butter, the standard S&P, a sprig or two or three of rosemary, butter. Butter. As it cooks, the key is to periodically drain the goodness from the middle and brush it all over the chicken to hold the moisture and flavor. The results are so gratifying. And fattening.

I gave the ol' bird a good, hard look when I removed it from the oven. I thought a little about his crispy, tough exterior painted with the color, flavor and nourishment he held inside. He might have tasted alright without it, but with it, completely changed.

Oh, don't forget the butter.

Roasted chicken
3 carrots, cut into thirds
6 small red new potatoes, quartered
1 medium yellow onion, wedged
3 tbsp butter, melted
1 chicken, 3 to 4 lbs
1 lemon, quartered
3 fresh rosemary sprigs
4 cloves garlic

Method:
Put carrots, potatoes and onion in a 9X13 inch dish and toss with butter, salt and pepper. Spread vegetables to the edge of the dish, making room for the chicken. Remove the neck and giblets from cavity of the chicken and discard. Rinse the bird under running water and pat dry. Put the chicken, breast side up, in the center of the dish and brush with remaining melted butter. Season generously with salt and pepper. Put lemon quarters and rosemary springs inside the cavity and the garlic cloves, smashed, underneath so they do not burn.

Roast for 45 minutes at 425 degrees F. Remove from oven, drain juices from cavity and baste. Roast again for another 25 to 30 minutes, or until temperature is 170 to 175 degrees F.